


Of Needs and Insecurities

by alex_kade



Category: Backstrom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Car Accidents, Fear, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured, trapped, and alone, Niedermayer and Valentine get to know one another better as they wait for help to arrive. The question is, can they keep it up long enough until somebody finds them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Needs and Insecurities

"Oh my god, oh my god, please don't be dead, please don't be dead. Niedermayer, wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up!"

Valentine tried to twist in his seat to tap the unconscious sergeant on the cheek, but with his legs trapped like they were under the dash and the stupid tree limb blocking his reach, he couldn't quite accomplish the task in the way that he wanted. He had to settle for bending his left arm through the branches and tapping Niedermayer on the side of his head, all the while trying not to have a panic attack over their current situation. There they were, trapped in Peter's SUV halfway to the bottom of a steep drop beside a road in the middle of nowhere (with no cell reception, of course), smashed into the bent bough of split tree that caught them _just_ right to prevent them from slamming full force into the next tree down, but crushing the passenger side of the trunk in hard enough to pin Val's legs firmly in place. If that wasn't bad enough, the thick limb that had speared its way through the windshield between him and Niedermayer was blocking his view of what damage may have been inflicted upon the forensics agent. All Val knew was that, aside from the obvious cuts on the man's face (cuts he knew were mirrored on his own normally-handsome face), Niedermayer was thoroughly unconscious, and that was due cause for alarm.

Val was trapped and, for the moment, alone. There was a time in his life as a young man when he'd been trapped and alone, alone until the bad man came for him, the man who touched him and burned him, tying him up like an abused dog until he was needed for the man's sadistic pleasures... 

"Val."

The sound of his name being weakly called snapped him out of the momentary panic he hadn't realized he'd let himself fall into. Tears nearly sprang to his eyes as he noticed Niedermayer's look of concern peeking at him through the maze of mangled branches.

"You okay?" the sergeant asked quietly.

Val pursed his lips together for a moment before answering, collecting himself as much as he could given the circumstances. He wasn't alone; trapped, yes, but not alone, nor with a monster disguised as a man. He was with Neidermayer, one of the calmest, most gentle people he'd ever met. Everything was going to be fine.

"Uh, no, as a matter of fact," he answered with a shake of his head, adding his usual sass back into his tone. "I could not be less okay. Wait, no, that's a lie. I could be dead. Dead would definitely be less okay than I am now, but I'm a far cry from fine. I can't move my legs. They're pinned under the-" he jerked one of his thighs just to test out his range of motion again. "-ow. Pinned under the dash."

"Anything broken?"

Val cringed as he tried to wiggle around a bit. "Well, there's no flaring pain anywhere. I'll be a walking bruise, I'm sure, but I don't think I'm broken. Either that or I've actually become an amputee under all that mush of metal and plastic, and I'm in so much shock that my brain is choosing to feel phantom limbs instead crushed bone and severed nerve endings. Wouldn't  _that_ be a fun surprise?"

Niedermayer quirked his eyebrows and tilted his head in a slight sort of shrug. "That actually could be a possibility. It's not uncommon for the mind to find ways to compensate for heightened levels of physical distress. If that's the case, we can only hope that the weight of the dash pressing on the severed arteries will be enough to prevent you from bleeding out until a rescue vehicle arrives."

A silent and mortified pause passed between them before Val attempted to reach over the tree limb to slap the sergeant, his ability to reach the man's face much improved now that Niedermayer's head wasn't turned away from him. The moment he jostled the branches, however, Niedermayer gasped heavily, his eyes clamping shut in obvious pain. Val froze.

"Niedermayer?" The sergeant continued to take small intakes of breath, clearly trying to breathe through whatever was wrong. "Peter, you're scaring me. What's happening right now?"

After an entirely-too-long silence, Niedermayer finally answered, albeit with a strained voice. "Foreign object penetration of...most likely the clavicular head of my right pectoralis major and subclavius muscle, resulting in a broken clavicle and possible...perforation of the suprascapular artery."

Val drew his brow down in both confusion and more than a little worry. "Can we try that again in English?"

The slight grin that flashed on Niedermayer's lips belied the words that next came out of them. "I have a tree branch in my shoulder and my collarbone is broken, so I would appreciate it if you didn't touch anything that might exacerbate the injury."

A million thoughts passed through Val's head in about one hot second, concerns about bleeding and shock and infection, about possible treatment options or ways to maybe get help to them faster, apologies that probably should be said even though Val really wasn't responsible for anything that required an apology (aside from jostling a tree limb that he hadn't know was impaling the sergeant to the car seat), and how serious, exactly, was a possible perforation of the supra...scuplar-whatever artery, anyway? Was Niedermayer going to die right in front of him, leaving him trapped in that car for maybe days before anyone found them?

Oh god, that was so selfish, thinking of himself like that when his friend was stoically suffering beside him. Was it even fair to call Niedermayer his friend? Really, they barely knew one another, no more than as the occasional work associate with the public knowledge that Val had an openly-admitted crush on the forensics specialist, one that Niedermayer did not reciprocate. In fact, Val wondered if Niedermayer even liked him on a basic human level. How sad would that be, if the man's last moments on Earth were to be spent with a guy he didn't want to be around?

"Peter?" he asked tentatively.

"Hmm?"

God, this was going to sound so petty. Still, it would be good to keep the both of them talking. That was what they always did in the movies, right? Kept the injured person talking? Plus, if they didn't talk, his mind would keep running in circles and he'd go into a panic all over again. Yes, it was better for them both to talk to each other, even if the subject was silly.

"How disappointed are you that I'm the one you're stuck in this car with?"

Niedermayer rolled his head in Val's direction. "I don't understand the question. The evidence surrounding the case dictated you would be the most knowledgeable person to help identify the missing objects from the crime scene. Who else would I be in the car with?"

Val rolled his eyes. "Turn off the literal switch for a few, okay? I don't want to be cajoled by police sergeant Niedermayer. Put Peter the spiritual humanitarian on the line for awhile. If you had a choice of who you'd want to be stuck in a car with, would it be me?"

Niedermayer thought for a second before answering. "Well, if you're not limiting the selection to only practical possibilities, then no, it would't be you," he admitted. "Not that I have anything against you, but given the option, I'd much prefer to be in a car with Cameron Diaz."

Nope, no good, and it showed all over Val's face. "Oh, no. Her? She could swallow your head whole with that mouth, and I'm not talking about the head you want to have swallowed. Put her and Steven Tyler together and that's the beginning of a b-rate, demonic spawn horror flick."

Peter laughed, wincing at the pain it caused, but only for a second before his good humor returned. "Yeah, but did you see her Esquire shoot last year?"

"Ohhhh, the legs. She does have gorgeous legs," Val agreed, "...which actually makes her an even worse choice to put in my position, considering the entire reason I'm stuck here."

He struck his point home by gesturing at his trapped limbs.

"Hmmm, right." Niedermayer bit his lip. "In that case, if we're making the dashboard entrapment a factor in the equation, then I still wouldn't choose to be trapped in the car with you. Karmically speaking, it's never good to wish negative situations on anybody, even an enemy, which you're not."

Leave it to Niedermayer to play the hippie love card. Val figured he should've seen that coming, considering he did say he wanted the humanitarian side of the man to shine through. Peter just wasn't the type to say he was disappointed with his current company, and he probably wasn't even lying about it. He was too good a person to think that way, which was one of the reasons Val adored him so much. Despite the fact that his job forced him to see the worst in people on a daily basis, the man still saw value in every human soul. He could probably be trapped in the car with the very criminal they were after and still find a way to carry a cordial conversation with the bastard. It was almost sickeningly noble. No wonder he sometimes drove Backstrom to drinking (more than usual, anyway).

And speaking of...

"So, how long do you think it'll take Backstrom to find us?" he inquired as casually as possible, not wanting to sound as desperate as he felt about being able to move his legs again.

Niedermayer shook his head. "Uhhh, hard to say. First he has to notice that we're missing-"

"-which could take awhile depending on how far he's fallen down one of his rabbit holes," Val sighed.

"Riiight," Peter nodded absently. "Though this does bring us back to the previous subject. You being in the car with me does improve my chances of survival. As both a civilian and Backstrom's friend, he's far more likely to notice your prolonged absence than mine. If I'd been out here on my own..."

Val rolled his eyes in Niedermayer's direction. "Stop it. Backstrom would come for you just as quickly as he'd come for me. He's not really as much of an asshat as he pretends to be, you know."

Peter didn't have to respond to that. His highly-skeptical look was more than enough to display just how much he disagreed with Val's statement, which made Val feel a little sad. Such a shame that Backstrom was incapable of showing his people how much he actually valued them to the point where one of the best members of the team was actually thinking himself expendable in Backstrom's eyes. What was worse was the fact that Peter seemed so disheartened by the concept; most people who met Backstrom really wouldn't care if the man thought them worthy of his friendship or not.

"I'll make you a bet," he said with a slight smirk. "When Backstrom comes for us, I bet you a fat fifty that he's just as concerned about you as he is me. More, actually, considering you're the one with a foreign object penetrating your pectoralis major. That's going to leave a nice scar, by the way. I know a very good tattoo artist who could cover that for you."

Niedermayer snorted. "Let me guess, you want mine to match yours?"

"The mirror image would be nice," Val confessed. "Think about it - you, me, shirtless, facing one another with the same tattoo on our chest, similar beauty covering the scars branded us via the hands of less worthy men. The poetry in that image would be inarguable."

"Inarguable if I weren't a heterosexual," Peter dutifully reminded him, "and thank you for the offer, but I don't think I want to cover the scar. It's like a Medal of Valor, proof that I went up against an enemy and survived the ordeal with honor and bravery."

Val's face twisted into a frown. He didn't feel nearly as proud about his own scars. How could he? How could he feel anything towards them besides fear and shame?

"'It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree,'" he quoted softly. "'The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.'"

"Rose Kennedy," Niedermayer nodded. "May I counter with a quote of my own?"

"I get the feeling you're going to whether I grant permission or not," Val assumed correctly.

Peter smiled at that. "Kahlil Gibran. 'Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.'"

Val swallowed and was ready to make an argument in defense of his shame, but when he locked eyes with Peter, all he saw in them was fond support and encouragement and...trust, the kind of trust that said he truly believed in his own words, in the idea that Val could never be anything less than a strong soul. How could he possibly think that? Peter didn't know anything about Val, not really, not unless Backstrom said something. But Backstrom wouldn't do that. Would he?

"Seared, huh?" he asked carefully. "Interesting choice of words. Is there a reason you chose that particular quote?"

Niedermayer dropped his gaze, making Val instantly regret his question. That look of trust was so quickly replaced by one of guilt, and the confidence that Peter so often exuded was replaced with a sort of uncertainty that put a twist in Val's gut. Why did he have to ruin everything with his own selfish thoughts? Was the man not suffering enough without his snide commentary?

"Hazard of the job," Peter shrugged, ignoring his own wince at the slight movement. "I notice things most people wouldn't notice. There are slight imperfections of your skin in certain areas beneath the ink, circular in shape, that are generally indicative of either bullet wounds or burns from a cigarette, and since they appear in areas where bullet wounds would generally be fatal, I could only conclude that they were burn scars."

"Your conclusion would be correct," Val informed him with a tightness in his voice. 

And now the guilt in Peter's eyes was ten times worse. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry into personal affairs. I just see things and I can't help..." He closed those beautiful eyes and pressed his lips together in a tight line. "Being true to one's nature leads one down a solitary path at times. A Sheikh once told me that, and it's something I've come to experience as a general rule of life and social standing. You're on, by the way."

Val's brow scrunched in confusion. "On what? You lost me."

"The bet. About Backstrom. You're on," Peter explained in almost a whisper. "He'll probably take one look at you and scold me for driving you into a tree."

"Oh, that's not true, and you know it," Val huffed defiantly. He meant to shoot an irritated look at Niedermayer for even suggesting such a nonsensical statement, but the look on his friend's face was genuine surrender. He really did think that Backstrom thought so little of him. When Val spoke next, it was with a soft pity riding on his tone. "Look at you, all bent out of shape because he isn't the boss's pet. And here I thought you were always so sure of yourself."

"No one is really sure of themselves unless that surety is justified and reinforced by somebody else," Peter replied, and added with a small smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, "A Peter Niedermayer original."

Well, this was just getting depressing. Niedermayer was supposed to be the strong one in this scenario, the one keeping Val from freaking out and remembering a time years past when he was trapped with little hope of escape. Instead Val was sitting there wondering why someone who was usually such a free spirit was so caught up on whether or not a curmudgeon like Backstrom liked him or not. There had to be something to that, something Peter was keeping a secret.

"So what's the excuse?" he found himself blurting out. "Is someone more like our beloved Backstrom than we've let on? Daddy issues that we haven't come to terms with? A favorite uncle who ignored us, maybe? Teacher that just wouldn't stamp that A+ on the paper no matter how hard we tried? What is it? Why do you care so much what he thinks of you?"

Peter grinned, a real smile this time. "None of the above. On the contrary, I'm used to people liking me right away. I have a bit of a bad tendency to annoy people  _after_ they like me, but generally I'm well-received."

"Soooo...you want Backstrom to like you just so you can find a way to irritate him later?" Val inquired.

Niedermayer laughed outright at that, resulting in yet another cringe and slight grunt of pain. "Yes. It's making me question the image I put off when I first met him. I continue to wonder what, exactly, I did wrong to push him away the moment I spoke to him, and if I might be prone to making the same mistake with others."

Val shot Peter with an endearing smirk. "It's sweet that you care so much, really it is, but news flash for you, Peter: Backstrom doesn't like _anyone_ when he first meets them. No, it takes years and years of pestering him and arguing with him and sometimes catering to his ego to get him to really like you, but trust me when I tell you this - he doesn't hate you."

"He said, and I quote, 'I hate Niedermayer.' More than once, actually."

"Has he said it to your face?" Val asked.

Peter snorted. "Yes, actually, he has."

Val grinned triumphantly. "Then he doesn't hate you. If he really hated you, he wouldn't have said it point blank to your face. He would find a thousand other ways to let you know how much he despised you, basically making your life a living hell. You don't act like you're living in hell, ergo, that fifty is as good as mine."

Anything Peter had to say in response was cut off by the sound of wood snapping overhead and the car jerking forward a few inches as the bough that had caught them up began to bend against the car's weight. The immediate cry of pain that followed scared Val more than the concept of slipping the rest of the way down that hill did, especially when he saw the way Niedermayer was pressing his head against the seat with his eyes firmly clamped shut and a couple tears streaming down his cheeks. Seeing that hurt Val in a way far different than physical pain could; it was tearing his heart in two.

"It's okay, it's okay," he hurriedly rambled out. "Um, uh...think of something...something. Peter? Peter, focus on my voice, okay? Focus on me. We're going to do some breathing exercises. You do those, right? Breathe in on three, okay? One...two...three."

Val inhaled a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out. He did it again, rolling his hands one over the other to encourage Peter to join in with him. Niedermayer tried, failed, tried again, then surprised Valentine with a choked-out laugh.

"What are you doing?" he got out through gritted teeth.

Val gave him a confused look. "What am I...? I'm breathing. That's what you do to meditate or center your chi or whatever, right?"

"Not like that," Peter huffed with a pained grin. "Slow down. It's like you're...trying to coach me through lamaze. Let me lead."

Huh. Well, this was great. Peter was the one who was grievously injured, yet he was the one bringing Val back from another potential panic attack he didn't even know he was having. He had to admit, the soft sounds of the sergeant's slow, rhythmic breathing coupled with his soothing, calm tone of voice was very quickly lulling Val straight down into that place where sleep was caressing his brow with a gentle kiss.

"Mm, like a Greek siren," he smirked, bringing himself back from the void he was slipping into. "You should put yourself on tape. You'd make a fortune as a sleep aid."

What he got in response was nothing more than the sound of steady breathing. At first that amused Val, the idea that Niedermayer was so good that he'd lulled _himself_ into sleep, but all humor at the situation quickly fled when Val found that he couldn't wake him up. Shouting Peter's name wasn't working, nor was carefully tapping his face through the branches. In a last, desperate attempt to get a response, he bit his lip in a tight cringe and shook the branch ever-so-slightly. Nothing. Niedermayer was out cold, and there was nothing Val could do about it. The thought was terrifying, but this time it wasn't because of the idea that he'd been left alone, but because he was genuinely scared for Peter. That beautiful man was actually dying right there beside him, inches away from him, and he couldn't do a thing to stop it. Not physically, anyway.

"Please don't take him," Val prayed for the first time since...well, since he stopped believing in any sort of god. Peter believed, though, he believed in faith of all sorts. Maybe one of them would work in his favor if someone prayed on his behalf. "Please, don't let him die."

Tears pricked at Valentine's eyes and flowed over to run down his cheeks. All he could do was pray, pray and watch the rise and fall of Peter's chest until the time came when he knew it would eventually stop...

"Val!"

His name being shouted startled him. He knew that voice. Could it possibly have been...?

"Valentine!"

Frantically twisting in his seat, Val did his best to lean out his broken window. The shouting had come from somewhere behind him and not too far away.

"Backstrom! Here! We're down here!"

Oh god, they were coming. Help was coming. How had they known? It didn't matter, that didn't matter at all, not now. All that mattered now was that they needed to hurry.

Within seconds, Backstrom was sliding into the window, his hands gripping the frame tightly to keep himself from slipping further down the hillside. Val's silent tears exploded into near sobs as he saw his friend face-to-face. A simple look in Peter's direction was all that was needed, the only communication that passed between them before Backstrom quickly stumbled around to the other side of the car and ripped the driver's side door open. And what was the first thing he did? Like Peter guessed, the man yelled, but it wasn't Peter he was yelling at. Backstrom was shouting for a medic  _right now_ on threat of death if his man didn't make it on account of them being too slow. Then there were orders, not shouted, but quiet and stern, ones that demanded Niedermayer to pull through, and with a little side dish of "We need you, buddy," to go along with the main course of genuine concern.

Val, for his part, kept right on crying as he recorded the entire conversation on his otherwise-useless phone.

_~BSM~BSM~BSM~BSM~BSM~BSM~_

"You owe me fifty bucks."

It was the first thing Niedermayer heard as he blinked open heavy eyelids.

"What?" he attempted to ask, but the word came out as nothing more than a gravely sound.

"Here, sweetie, suck on this." A laugh. "Wow,  _that_ could've been taken out of context. If only. Alas, not today. Open up, it's just an ice cube."

Peter, his head still foggy, did as told, his mind latching onto the ice cube and missing the majority of the joke. He closed his eyes in relief as the ice began to melt on his dry tongue, savoring the way the cool water slid down his throat.

"You almost died, you know," Val continued. "Appealing to your medical brainy side, when the 'foreign object' shifted, it wound up nicking your axillary artery. Big deal, I guess. You nearly bled out."

All Peter could get out was a tired, "Huh."

"Huh? Really? That's how you respond to news of nearly meeting your maker? Makers? Whatever you believe in? I prayed for you, you know. I, Gregory Valentine, who hasn't prayed for anything in earnest since I was practically a boy, actually sent messages to the Great Beyond on your behalf. That deserves more than a one syllable response, don't you think?"

"Thank you?" Peter tried again, his voice still rough. Val shoved another ice cube in his mouth and leaned back in his chair with a pout on his face.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," he grumbled. "I'm fine, by the way. In a wheelchair, if you didn't notice. I'm a little too banged up to be a walking bruise, so I have to be a rolling one for the time being."

Niedermayer forced his eyes open again and made them focus on the chair. "That's good," he sighed.

Val opened his mouth to give an affronted reply, but the words slipped away from him as he looked at Peter's face. The man look tired, and pale, and...

"You hurt, don't you?" he asked, pity on his tone. "They were afraid to give you much of anything until you woke up. Here, I'll buzz the nurse for you. They'll give you something that'll make you feel a thousand times better, I'm sure."

He leaned over and pressed the call button on Peter's bed, then hesitated with his hand hovering near the sergeant's elbow where his arm was now trapped up in a sling.

"That's going to take a while to heal," he informed his friend. "Backstrom was furious. He went on a rant for two straight hours about it. One of his better ones, if I had to judge, and I've judged a lot of Backstrom rants."

"Tell him I'm sorry to disappoint," Peter mumbled.

Val rolled his eyes. "Not you, doofus. The rant was about the guy who ran us off the road. And the whistle-blower who apparently told the guy we were coming. And the whole team, including himself, for not finding out about the snitch until it was too late. In fact, Backstrom was generally pissed off at everyone _except_ you. Well, and me, of course, because you can't blame the civilian for being lawfully dragged into potentially life-threatening situations all in the name of helping out his fellow man."

The look of confusion on Peter's face would've been priceless if the source of it hadn't been so damn sad. "He really wasn't angry with me?" he asked, sounding very much like a lost little boy seeking approval from a favorite mentor.

"No," Val smiled softly, and placed his phone on Peter's chest. He took a second to slip the attached headphones into his friend's ears. "I already told you, you owe me fifty bucks."

He hit play just as the nurse stepped in, and rolled himself out of the room to give the man some privacy. He turned back for a second, just a second, but it was enough to catch the touching awe in Peter's beautiful, innocent eyes as he listened to a recording that captured just how much Backstrom truly did care about him. Maybe one day Peter would care that much about Val, maybe more, but for now the fact that Niedermayer was still alive was enough.

"Thank you," Val whispered towards the ceiling as he pushed himself down the hall to report to his roommate, a very cranky Backstrom who was currently drowning himself in coffee in the hospital cafe. Whether there was anyone out there to actually thank, he didn't know, but he did know that the universe had kept Peter alive, and that was more than enough to be grateful for.

 

_~The End~_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I need a new fandom like a need a broken leg. *sigh* Then here comes Backstrom with its adorable characters practically screaming, "Play with me!" And tempting me to slash them, of all things! Never thought I'd see the day when I would go that direction, lol. Not that anything slashy is actually going on in this fic, but it's written with the intention of heading that way if I ever get around to doing more stories in this fandom. So, yeah, for the slash fans, consider this a first step. For the non-slash fans, pretend you didn't read this note and keep the fic as innocent as you'd like. ;)


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